


they are standing in the garden

by ArdenSkyeHolmes221



Series: 13 nights of halloween [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix It, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Imaginary Friends, Introspection, Post-Infinity War, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, haunted, post Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 08:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdenSkyeHolmes221/pseuds/ArdenSkyeHolmes221
Summary: “We made the right decision.”He drags his attention away from the calm breeze kissing the lake, waves lulling to and fro like a lullaby without a melody, hypnotizing nonetheless, and meets his wife’s sideways gaze. His chest twists. A slow smile unfurls from his mouth as he offers up,“I know we did.”Twenty more weeks to go until the arrival of their baby girl. Then their new life officially begins. Until then… it starts with a cabin uptown.***5 times Peter haunted Tony plus the one time he was real.





	they are standing in the garden

**Author's Note:**

> welcome, welcome! I'm kick-starting the Halloween season thanks to hailing-star's 13 nights of halloween prompts, specifically haunted. story inspired by the song It's Quiet Uptown from Hamilton/Kelly Clarkson, which is also where the title comes into play.

“We made the right decision.”

He drags his attention away from the calm breeze kissing the lake, waves lulling to and fro like a lullaby without a melody, hypnotizing nonetheless, and meets his wife’s sideways gaze. His chest twists. A slow smile unfurls from his mouth as he offers up,

“I know we did.”

Twenty more weeks to go until the arrival of their baby girl. Then their new life officially begins. Until then… it starts with a cabin uptown.

He peers out at the water once more.

His life is nothing more than one tragic recovery after another; this time Tony remains uncertain if he will heal. Yesterday would have been P— would have been his first kid’s seventeenth birthday. A son. He lost— before he even knew what he had been, he lost him. No, that isn’t quite right either. He knew what he had and Tony refused to acknowledge it for what it had been; the best thing in his life; a precious gift. It took until his kid was ashes on his fingertips to admit— to admit he loved him and what a goddamn waste. _So much for being a genius. _He sucks in a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes tight.

“We’re going to be okay.”

Tony tangles his fingers with Pepper’s, applying pressure, and whispers, “I hope you’re right, Ms Potts.”

“It’s Stark, now, actually,” her voice is light, a hint of playfulness lacing her tone, “and didn’t you know Starks are always right?”

Internally, he winces. A piece of him knows that Pepper did not intend to cause him pain; that she meant for Tony to take her words as a confidence boost or motivation or proof that she believes Starks are resourceful. Usually he’d pick up on it. Tony has regressed, though; Starks are made of iron and Tony has walked through fire, beyond his melting point, and come out on the others side distorted. Changed. Howard is in his head telling him how worthless he is and good for nothing. Tony’s trust has diminished.

And yet— Pepper agreed to marry him after all the years of bullshit Tony’s dragged her through; not for the baby they would have had no problem raising without a marriage certificate between them; and he can’t quite cross off that she only agreed to marry him because half the world’s population upped and vanished, but Tony knows Pepper: she rarely makes decisions on a whim. Pepper knows him.

It’s been too long without a decent response, though that does not keep Tony from tugging her into his side. His arm wraps around her shoulders, sliding down to rest against her elbow. And the presence of their daughter bumps against his knuckles.

“Do you think he’d be surprised?”

Tony doesn’t have to ask who _he _is and automatically his brain supplies _no; he’d adore it out here. _He keeps it to himself, throat constricting as if he truly is allergic to feelings. Because it’s a gaping, infected wound when Tony has to think about the kid. Instead, he offers her an answer by squeezing her wrist three times.

Pepper shifts until she presses a kiss against the underside of his jaw then settling back into his chest.

A piece of Tony feels as if he is running away from his past. It’s the part that calls him cruel for leaving behind May Parker in a city full of ghosts, especially the day after they toasted _happy birthday to our kid_ to their shared ghost not even twenty-four hours ago. His brain says he is cheating grief, circumventing it by moving hours away from the heart of the wound. And it isn’t like he’ll visit Titan ever again, so all of his grief sits back in Queens, at his penthouse in Manhattan. Silent reminders of a life Tony continues to live without one of his most important pieces. No… not a piece. Life isn’t a chess board; it may feel that way, but Tony has not thought of Peter as a chess piece since Leipzig, even then it was brief. However he thinks about it Tony knows he is a father without a son just as much as May is a mother without her child; the world has taken on a dulled sepia edge since April. So maybe he is running away.

All he wants is to be able to breathe without feeling as if shards of glass will pierce open his lungs with every inhale.

“I’m going to start unpacking the kitchen. Take all the time you need,” Pepper says softly, unwinding herself from him then heading straight for the front porch.

Tony wanders toward the dock.

His mind races with ways to familiarize the land surrounding him, perhaps a swing off one of these trees or a treehouse for his daughter as she ages to spruce up the place. If his mind is preoccupied, then he ought to be fine.

He toes off his shoes then tugs off his socks. After stuffing the socks inside his shoes, Tony quickly rolls up his pant legs and settles at the end of the dock, dipping his toes into the cool water. 

A dragonfly hovers around before offering the water a soft caress hello, the surface rippling and Tony’s eyes track the motion as it expands ad infinitum. Corner of his left lip upticks in mild amusement. And if his gaze continues wandering until a familiar lanky form appears floating and relaxed on the water, spritzing water like a fountain, then so be it.

After all, Tony’s a little homesick.

***

Three days passed her due date and at 11:48pm on New Year’s Eve, his daughter makes her grand entrance into the world. She comes out squalling, angrier than a displaced hornet, entire body tinting pinkish-red as her lungs expand and the skin around her face wrinkles. _She is lovely,_ Tony’s heart sings, tears welling in his eyes.

He cuts the umbilical cord, sniffling all the while, breath catching at the back of his throat.

The midwife passes baby to Pepper. Tony’s knees knock together once, then lock up. As he watches his daughter—_oh shit, he has a daughter—_ nestle against Pepper’s chest, skin to skin, his world shifts. He sways. Because the world is stitching itself back together again one thread at a time; his daughter is a breathing miracle now; and yet—

_Peter._

Sounds tunnel slowly, watering down the humming of his heart, whitening out hospital personnel buzzing around him, until his whole focus zeroes in on Pepper and their baby. He does not think about the fact they have yet to agree on her name. His gratitude for a healthy delivery floats but does not induce an anxious cycle of _what-ifs. _He forces away the budding contradiction slithering up his spine, sitting heavy at the base of his neck. _Not now, _he begs, _one more moment._

Pepper’s hand cups the back of a dark head, tiny and full of matted locks, her wedding ring on, though her engagement ring is missing. And in that moment it hits Tony: this is real. His new reality. A wife, a daughter. They are his as much as he is theirs. His family. His wife cradles their newborn daughter and she is the picture of serenity. Her movements are stilted at first; it does not last long, however, because Tony knows Pepper is a natural at anything she is determined to conquer, and soon mother and baby melt into each other.

Warm tears slide down his cheeks, catching in his overgrown facial hair, imprinting this picturesque scene into his mind for safe keeping.

Somehow he finds his way to the rocking chair tucked in the corner. Old, rickety, though it glides smoothly. The room has settled down now; Pepper sleeps; and Tony cradles his daughter close, her cheek smooshed against the crease of his shoulder and chest. Because they are not in the city, life outside the hospital is quiet, resounding and all-consuming. Unexpected. 2019 has begun and it may as well be the first year of Tony’s life where he did not notice the transition. Air rattles in his lungs because in the span of a year—_less than a year—_ Tony lost a son and gained a daughter. It does not balance out—

His little girl nudges her nose against him and he switches his attention back on her, blinking away from his dazed thoughts, and drinking in her appearance. She is so close. Her lower lip soundlessly moves as if she is gaping.

Tony gazes down at her and he swears he sees Peter in the curve of her nose, the length of her lashes, and the roundness of her cheeks. If her eyes opened, Tony imagines he’d see haunting brown orbs he sees only in dreams now. Not outside of pictures. He looks at his child, golden warmth filling up the crevices in his hollowed out chest, and he sees his first child, scattering ashes on the wind. That warm feeling in his chest tightens, squeezing with the might of an Asgardian, applying pressure until Tony gives into the urge to verbalize it, gasping under his breath, the kid’s name on his lips, eyes squeezing shut as his daughter eclipses into Peter and his pleas ring in his ears: _I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go._

“Pete,” he breathes or begs or sobs, mouthing the name his mind yearns to blacklist and his heart will never give up.

Baby shifts. Tony jars. Instinct and muscle memory has Tony shifting her around, his arms wrapping around her, cocooning her, and as he offers her comfort, his nose finds her hair and he inhales.

“M’sorry, little love,” he murmurs, shushing and cooing in turns, calming them both. “Last time I held something so precious, he slipped right through my fingers. I can’t lose you, too.”

His lips press into her crown.

After an extended beat, and as softly as he can, he rests against her crown, sealing in his adoration and his silent promise of protection. Behind his left arm, peering down from the back of the rocking chair, is a cold presence. Empty space. His eyes blink open as he rocks forward and they find the plastic contraption the hospital calls a bassinet. In black marker is a name:

Morgan Noelle Stark. 

A hint of a smirk ghosts his mouth. He supposes they have agreed on his name. He steals a quick peak at his snoozing wife, hair a mess and hands gripping tightly at the top of her blankets, his heart eases. Back to his daughter, he looks at her and tries to dredge up a long ago dream. A dream where Tony had a child named for his wife’s favorite, eccentric uncle. It’s tainted now, of course. Because Tony already had a son in Peter Parker; an unsaid relationship, though it takes nothing away from what they had.

And now his life with his two children will never be more than a dream. A fantasy where Tony can introduce Peter to his little sister; surrounded by their intermingling laughter. Tony never knows what he has until he loses it.

***

“I hear you loud and clear, duckling,” he says in a normal voice. “You hate my singing and my voice and you don’t want snuggles. I don’t know what you want.”

Morgan continues sobbing, propped up over Tony’s shoulder as he paces the nursery back and forth, back and forth.

Obviously he does not remember his own experience with teething, though he sympathizes with his fussy daughter at the thought of anything irritating his own gums. Pepper’s on an overnight trip to Portland; so their usual bout of tag-teaming is not an option. Thankfully this isn’t his first rodeo by himself. There is a twinge in his lower back from the numerous times he’s bent to pick up Morgan’s discarded teething ring. Both, in fact; she wants nothing to do with the frozen or regular one.

Not to brag, but Tony’s got the magic touch. Morgan loves his voice. Generally. Not tonight, of course. His six month journey of fatherhood has been intense, needless to say, full of interrupted sleep and decoding a tiny person’s wants and needs; though Tony feels as if it has been rewarding when she smiles or calls him _da_. Nonetheless, he may have reached the end of his rope tonight in terms of how to console his little girl.

“Shh, hey duckling, hey,” he hums, bouncing the baby as he crosses toward rocking chair, glancing up, “look what Daddy’s got—”

His words die in the air as Tony had been reaching for Morgan’s stuffed duck as a potential consolation prize. Because Peter sits in the rocking chair, all soft edges and sleepy smile, and Tony freezes, right arm outstretched.

It sits in Peter’s lap.

Morgan lets out a particularly displeased noise and snaps Tony back. Without looking, heart jackhammering in his chest, Tony snatches the duck from the chair and spins on his heel.

“Let’s go for a car ride, hmm?” his lips press against the side of Morgan’s head. “I think we both need to get out of the house.”

He spins on his heels and marches out of the nursery, heading through the house until they are out the front door, and FRIDAY locks up behind them. Tony may have lessened his A.I.’s duties since their move upstate, but some things Tony refused to let go; because what is the point of creating a learning A.I. like FRIDAY if he isn’t going to use her?

He unlocks the Q7 and settles Morgan into her car seat. Tremors in his hands don’t pick up until the final buckle and Tony has to step back and breathe. Once, twice. Clenches the duck until he fears stuffing may pop out.

“FRI?” he croaks, resting against the front passenger seat.

“Yeah, Boss?” comes the slightly muffled reply out of his back pocket.

“Start the car, will you?”

The car hums to life.

“Da,” whines Morgan, elongating the vowel and clenching her fists.

He situates stuffed duck next to his daughter. Then, Tony climbs over Morgan, shutting the door behind him, before he settles into the middle seat.

“Be a dear, FRI, and drive us around the block, will ya?” he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Only if you buckle up first.”

He sighs but does as directed.

Car starts moving and a Pepper-approved playlist for Morgan floats through the sound system. He offers Morgan one of his hands.

If he’s honest with himself, Tony recognizes this particular brand of anxiety coursing through his veins. Well, the anxiety that he ignored before seeing— yeah. Right when his mentorship with Peter took on a more personal quality to it, Tony had dealt with panic and feelings of unworthiness, of inadequacy. Pepper tells him he _is _worthy of their love and Tony… Tony is beginning to believe it.

It’s shock, he realizes sometime during the ride, not anxiety. Because Tony thought he’d never get to see his first kid again and so seeing him in his sister’s room— he closes his eyes, mind immediately drawing up that image of Peter sat in the rocking chair.

Morgan fusses.

“Story time, my little gremlin,” he turns his head to meet his daughter’s gaze, watery and red-rimmed with his own eyes, offering her the hint of a smile.

And so Tony starts the story on how Peter Parker came into his life.

***

“You’re insane.”

“You married me.”

Tony isn’t facing her but he essentially hears Pepper’s massive eye roll from his position in front of the fire place. 

“You’re putting that picture up in every room in the house.”

“If this is you complaining about it, then you’re more than welcome to take them all down.” he situates the silver frame just so. “Please note, though, if you do take them down, I have to put up bigger prints in place.”

“S’that so?”

He hums. Tweaks one last time. Then steps back to smile at the frame: his daughter grinning up at the camera, no other way to describe it than cheesing because her eyes are squinted shut, wrapped snug in her bright yellow duck bath towel with the hood up. It’s his new favorite picture and it’s all Tony wants to see. So what if he has gone overboard? His duckling is stinking adorable.

Tony turns around. Pepper sits on the couch, curled along the back with her hand cupping her chin, radiating both adoration and mild exasperation. His heart warms.

“Go check on her for me please? I’ll start dinner.”

His brows furrow, “She’s not upstairs?”

“No,” Pepper shakes her head, “she’s in the garden because she requested cucumber salad for dinner.”

“Our kid is weird.” he says.

“It was bound to happen,” his wife shrugs it off, laughing at whatever expression flickers across his face. “Also, Morgan. Please. Gerald isn’t a reliable babysitter. And I’m comfy; need a few minutes to unwind from work. Please, babe?”

“Hey, now, there’s no need to diss our alpaca. His learning curve isn’t as steep as FRIDAY’s.” he walks backwards out of the living room.

“Neither are reliable babysitters.” she calls back.

“We have different definitions of reliable!” he waits to shout until he is out the back door then lets it shut after him.

Back porch is empty, unfortunately, but Tony has plenty of time to haunt the area. Instead he walks through it and down three steps into the grass, cresting the side of the house until Pepper and Morgan’s garden comes into view.

His breath catches.

She is too far away to hear properly, though Tony knows she is speaking, indicated by her animated posture and her giggles floating on the wind like bubbles. Morgan is at an angle where the majority of her back faces Tony as she stands in the garden, though her side profile will come into view to show off a dimple in her cheek whenever she shifts. But that isn’t what has caused his breathing to shorten. With Morgan’s hand stretched out and fingers loosely curled, Tony can perfectly see Peter’s silhouette in the space beside her, and it appears like Morgan takes and holds Peter’s hand.

He steps forward.

God, it’s so real: Morgan holding onto Peter as she rambles about her vegetables and Peter smiles at her, then he’s pulling funny faces until she giggles hard enough until Peter’s joining in, their laughter childish and carefree. Full of life, providing air to Tony’s lungs. She comes up under Peter’s waist in height because both of them are on the shorter end. Sunshine pulls warm hues in their hair. It’s a moment Tony never thought he’d—

“Come on, Petey,” her voice pierces the air, clear annunciation, fingers wiggling as if in invitation, “we’re almost done.”

Several breaths pass before Tony realizes his cheeks are wet with tears. He blinks and the duo children image fades, leaving him sniffling and catching his breath. Not only did he hallucinate the kid, but his daughter’s imaginary friend is her dead brother. Tony doesn’t know which is worse: his on-again, off-again moments of clarity of seeing Peter or his three year old daughter’s mind making pretend friends with him.

His heart aches.

“Daddy?”

Not noticing his eyes slipped closed, Tony opens them back up to see his daughter stepping out of the garden, dirt clinging to her calves, head tilted as she looks at him intently.

“Hey, duckling,” his voice cracks and he clears his throat.

Morgan carries her picnic basket full of cucumbers as she ambles toward him. When she’s several steps away, she sets down her basket, and her hands find their way to her hips. “Don’t be sad.”

“I didn’t mean to get sad, baby girl.” he admits, giving her as much honesty as he is able.

Her nose and mouth scrunches up. “I think you need a Petey hug.”

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “I think you’re right. I’d give anything for a Petey hug right now.” he squats down to her level and opens up his arms. “Can I have a Morgan hug?”

His daughter runs the short distance between them, throwing her arms around Tony’s neck and hangs on tight. “I can give you two hugs, Daddy; one from me and one from Petey.”

He kisses her temple and whispers, “My babies give the best hugs.”

“Silly Daddy,” she makes a face as she pulls away ever so slightly, still clinging to his neck, and finishes, “I’m not a baby anymore.”

“Silly Daddy, indeed, forgetting important facts.”

“S’okay because I’ll be your brain.” 

Tony thanks her by planting a wet kiss on her cheek and her peels of giggles works to warm up his tender heart.

***

_I’ve got my second chance right here._

Tony shifts in his seat, pushing his hands underneath his armpits, and breathes in the night air. Stars glitter against a clear and bright sky. Cicadas hum. Lake yawns in echoing ripples. It’s quiet. He tucked Morgan into bed a couple hours ago and kissed Pepper goodnight not even twenty minutes beforehand. And now his tumultuous thoughts have the freedom to run rampant with Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, and Scott Lang’s pleas along with his immediate denial. Plus, Iron Man is retired at this point in all but name. Tony tinkers, sure; but the suit sees dust more than daylight.

He will _never _risk his daughter simply because he cannot lose Morgan.

And why should he risk his baby girl when the Avengers have rarely reached out to him since Morgan’s birth? Besides Nat and Bruce, Tony’s heard fuck all from them, which isn’t surprising even if it doesn’t take away the sting of hurt. He isn’t disappointed anymore. He has his own path and it hasn’t matched the Avengers’ mentality for nearly a decade.

Freely he thinks of Peter, allows memories to cascade over him without the added veil of story time with Morgan or carefully dredging up specific recollections; he gives into the urge to experience his grief, a scar after all these years that continues to throb in tune with a reassembling heart, and his chin wobbles.

First tear falls.

He has one child suspended in memory, voice immortalized by technology and saved for rainy days, while his other is growing rapidly, tangible and full of life. Tony does not avoid Peter, per se, if his Spider-Man and newbie intern stories are proof; it shreds his heart into ribbons if he speaks of Peter and it isn’t a shared experience, tasting like tart lemons at the back of tongue. He’s _raw._ He will do everything within and outside his power to protect Morgan; he held her and fought back fears of her disappearing into a cloud of dust, shaken and distraught, and somehow found a way onward. A shadow imprinted against his side, invisible and reeking of what life could have been like: two children standing side by side, unleashing joy and warmth into his soul with the force of tsunamis, and teaching him intimate details of life; on what it means to live a full life. He is a father twice over and he never wanted to replace anyone in Peter’s life; some days, though… some days he has the selfish thought that maybe Peter wonders if Tony has replaced him.

He clenches his left hand.

When the tremors do not lessen, he shoves out of his seat and tromps down the porch steps, wandering into the grass and randomly stops, head tipping back until he stares the stars in the eye. Fear washes over him, guilt and cold sweats closely on its heels. Tony sets his shoulders. Then _looks_, searching for… he finds Cassiopeia easily enough now. Remembers Peter’s little rants he would, without fail, give the few times they stargazed together.

_“Greek myth has her as a proud, vain Queen. I just really like her constellation because of the heart nebula, not gonna lie.” _Peter had said.

It had made Tony smirk then as he does now at the memory. Kid may have had a knack for chemistry, physics, and engineering, but Tony had uncovered a discarded dream of Peter’s where for a few years he wanted to be an astrophysicist. And his uncle Ben had a thing for Greek mythology.

Pete should be up there: a brilliant light in the sky.

After Cassiopeia he finds Andromeda, then wheedles his way down his list until his nerves calm entirely. 

He snorts when he replays the conversation with Scott Lang in his head. Time travel. Kid would have gotten a kick out of his _Back to the Future _reference, if only so he could call him old. If times were different, Tony images that putting Scott and Peter in the same room together would either end one of two ways: harmoniously or disastrously. Tony favors the latter.

He’d give anything to save Peter. His dying breath, surely; if it ensured either child’s survival, Tony would give it up in a heartbeat. Make no mistake, because more than anything Tony yearns to _live _for them. Only… can he risk what he has now to gain back what he’s lost? 

He thinks of earnest brown eyes, barely a shade off from Morgan’s and his own, telling him so very long ago, _“If you can do the things I can, and you don’t… the bad things? When the bad things happen, they happen because of you.”_

He exhales, eyes closing. 

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose.

It isn’t as if he has forgotten, only—

“FRIDAY,” he intones after pulling out his cell phone,“baby girl, no time for snoozin’ because I’ve got a task for you.”

“I wasn’t, as you so aptly put it, snoozing, Boss; just waiting on you.” she replies primly, Irish lilt quiet against the midnight epiphanies. “How can I help you?”

“I’m gonna need you to run some simulations for me.”

And he heads inside.

***

He’s sore.

Tony has never been one willingly to listen to doctors, though he understands perhaps his most recent batch were on to something when suggesting bedrest. His numb ass begs to differ and boredom has hit fast, which isn’t a surprise to anyone. He is sore and he doesn’t like it.

Peter reads it loud and clear. 

So after dinner, while Pepper and May are poring over wine options down in the cellar, Peter urges Morgan to stand and they make their way into the living room where Tony’s recovery bed has been set up.

Tony gives the kids a cautionary glance. “What’s going on?”

But Peter and Morgan are too busy whispering back and forth to answer Tony. After a beat and what may have been _think you can do it?_ followed by a head nod from his daughter right before she skips away, Tony repeats himself.

“I’m springing you from your hospital prison.” Peter answers proudly.

“You’re what?”

“Um,” the kid rubs at the back of his neck, “well, I just figured you’re getting tired of being in one area all the time. Did you… like, I dunno, wanna go hang out outside? I can move your bed for you.”

“I don’t need the bed, kid; just get me to a chair and I’ll be fine.”

Peter pins him with a look that Tony knows from experience is the teenager attempting to emulate May and himself. “Tony, I might be dumb, but I’m not stupid. Pepper’ll kill me if she finds you out of bed.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Well?”

“Back porch and make it snappy.” 

So Peter somehow, someway maneuvers him out onto the back porch all the while Morgan is on lookout duty. And once Tony is situated both his kids climb onto his bed and settle in beside him, watching the sky blink from pink to orange.

“So you can stick to _anything?”_

“Just about, yeah.”

“Could you stick to a bee?”

“I’ve never tried it, but theoretically it is possible.”

“_Cool!”_

Tony tugs them closer into his side as Morgan continues to badger Peter with questions the same way she has done over the course of the last month. His prosthetic arm is around Morgan because his daughter has a weird penchant for tracing his fingers. Peter is on his other side, chin propped against Tony’s chest as he chatters.

Morgan falls asleep with her hand twined in his.

Peter curls into his side, reveling in the quiet.

Stars stretch over the lake and Tony presses a kiss against either child’s head.

And Tony? Tony is jubilant he has the privilege to watch both children grow up. It doesn’t erase any of his hurt, but it eases his soul knowing he has both of them. Peter and Morgan, side by side, right where they belong.

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone brings up the fact that Morgan's middle name doesn't start with the letter H... I'm telling you now I KNOW and I'm not booboo the fool. 
> 
> scream with me on [tumblr](https://ardenskyedarcy221b.tumblr.com)


End file.
